


The Deeper the Love

by kateyboosh



Category: The Mighty Boosh RPF
Genre: Banter, Bit of a Snog, Flashbacks, In the past and in the modern day, M/M, Some Whitesnake For My Soup Snake, all the kisses really, kiss kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 20:22:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29863566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kateyboosh/pseuds/kateyboosh
Summary: Big hands, big hearts, big dreams, big banter, big kisses, and most of all, big... hair? Yep. Terrantalen wanted kisses to Whitesnake, Terrantalen gets kisses to Whitesnake.
Relationships: Julian Barratt/Noel Fielding
Kudos: 7
Collections: Trash Triplets Present (to our own surprise): The Completely Spontaneous Kiss Kiss Week Collection





	The Deeper the Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Terrantalen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Terrantalen/gifts).



> Totally helps if you've seen the video for [The Deeper the Love](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xuUz7QedAaM) by Whitesnake, which is the prompt song for this ficlet. Also totally helps if you read the very last line of the song. Just sayin'...

They’re down at Julian’s local when it happens.

Noel ducks inside under Julian’s outstretched arm and sidesteps the dodgy floorboard that squeaks like a family of angry parakeets any time a heel more than two inches high meets it. Doesn't matter, though: the couples milling about playing darts pay more mind to moving out of the way of the heavy door instead of who’s coming through it. The barmaid’s hustling about, picking up empty glasses scattered over tables, and the blokes parked on stools at the bar only have ears for three topics: the weather, the footy, and that blonde on the cover of _Sunday Sport_.

It’s been quite a while since he’s been blonde - or played footy - and he doesn’t think he’s ever graced the pages of that particular publication, but weather? The both of them are somewhat… _dewy_. Somewhere between soggy and soaked, caught out in a chilly shower that really shouldn’t have surprised either of them this late into spring, but did.

It’s warm in their usual corner, though, the one opposite the jukebox. Warm and dry for the next five seconds, at least.

Noel watches Julian track large, wet footprints across the floor to the bar to grab them both a drink. He slings his jacket over the back of an empty chair, stands the sheepskin of the collar up to dry, drops his backpack on the seat, and fans his t-shirt away from his chest.

He settles into his seat, flicking his fringe out of his eyes. Julian’s voice filters through the soft buzz of chatter as he orders for them. He can picture the wry twist of Julian’s lips when the words “caught in a little mist” float back over the sound of the fruit machine and the thunk of darts into the board, accompanied by the barmaid’s giggle.

Used to be, Noel would sulk if this was even the suggestion of a night out, let alone if he’d worn leather and it had gotten wet along with his barnet.

Tonight, he smiles. Quiet local’s more than alright with him, and it’ll take worse than a spring shower to do his jacket, his hair, or his spirits in.

Julian lopes back to the table with a couple of pints and thin, clean towels from the sympathetic barmaid slung over his arm, but it still doesn’t stop him from skimming the fringe of his scarf through the top of both glasses when he leans to set them down on the table.

“Shit,” he chuckles. "Hope you wanted lint with that."

Noel pulls a face. Really, only Julian would wear a scarf that thick in springtime, and only he would come into a pub to get out of the rain and end up even wetter than when he'd stepped in.

"Unbelievable," he grins. 

He swipes at Julian's scarf with one of the towels, then dabs at the wet knit of his jumper. He stops when Julian's hair drips onto the flat of his nose. Julian's eyes skate down to meet his, and he stops. 

"Don't think this is helping much, Ju."

Julian shrugs, and another droplet of water flops into one of the pints.

"Probably should have taken my chances out on the street. Or worn a large sponge."

Noel laughs. 

Julian nods at his backpack before pulling the jumper over his head. "I thought you'd have an umbrella stashed in there." He flops down next to Noel, his arm resting along the top of the bench behind Noel's head.

Noel turns, leans into the heat of him. "Who d'you think I am, Mary Poppins?"

"Mmm. Mary with a mullet," Julian muses. "Get you that little hat and the shoes. Perhaps even the dress." There's a twinkle in his eye as he sips his drink, the picture of damp nonchalance. "Bit long for you, though, that skirt."

"Get stuffed," Noel grins, nudging into his side. "I think you'll find this is a shag." He gestures to his fringe and remembers the slippery feeling of hair product melting down the back of his neck in the rain. 

"... I think you'll find this _was_ a shag," he giggles. He's too comfy nestled into his seat and Julian's warm, mostly dry side to reach for his own drink. He can feel his smile go goofy around the corners of his mouth before he hides it behind the rim of Julian's pint.

He's about to respond to the skirt length comment when he hears it. The song comes on the jukebox in the corner, and a bit of beer comes out of his nose, followed by a choked, cackling laugh-cough that does draw attention from a couple of punters.

Not for long, though. It’s a noise they’re all used to hearing when he's here with Julian.

They don’t pay much attention to the kiss Julian steals off him a second later, because that’s not out of the ordinary, either.

It's a quick peck, a brush of lips that Julian half-hides leaning around him to pat his back. Noel eyes him, and coughs around the laugh that's still bubbling out of his chest while David Coverdale croons about rivers of tears and nights growing colder.

"Ju," he chokes out, wiping his eyes, "d'you-"

"Yeah," Julian grins.

*

It's after lunch, and they're both full of soup, and slightly sleepy in the too-warm flat. And Julian's got the laptop open and sat on his knees, which is well unfortunate, because that's where Noel would like to be sitting. 

As it is, he's fidgeting through every position he can get into as they bounce ideas back and forth. The back ledge of the mismatched sofa is alright to perch on for a bit, until it starts to dig into his hipbone, and the arm hasn't got enough room for his arse, and the space hopper is comfortable for about five seconds until he ungrips his thighs and loses his balance. Somehow, he manages to knock into Julian in front of him and upset the stack of CDs on the floor behind him at the same time. 

He grimaces out a "Shit, sorry, Ju," and Julian pushes the laptop half-shut before pulling him up. 

Doesn't move it off his lap, though. 

Noel smooths his fringe and flips his collar down, sheepskin back over leather. He toes at the cases slid under the edge of the sofa, fishing them out from a lifetime of frolicking with the dust bunnies, spawning little fuzzy bits of rainbow that squeak out Zappa with every hop.

"Hand us one," Julian motions. "Think we could both do with a break."

He picks up the few that have slipped next to Julian's foot. He flips by Zeppelin and Deep Purple, pauses at Wu-Tang, then hands Julian the disc at the bottom of the pile. It's unlabeled and there's no track listing on the case. A surprise, then. 

Julian pops the disc in the drive and Noel flops onto the sofa next to him, tucking his legs under. He watches a flicker of amusement cross Julian's face as he fiddles with the trackpad.

"What?" 

"Nothing. Just…" he trails off, a tiny grin inching across his lips. 

Noel shuffles closer on the sofa, until his knees are pressed into Julian's thigh. He tries not to bounce when he sees the full grin form under Julian's moustache. 

"Come on, what is it?"

Julian shrugs. He adjusts the volume and double taps on a track. 

A thudding beat like a hammer driving a nail pounds out of the tiny laptop speakers, followed by a crunching riff and, Christ, probably some type of hidden synthesizer.

"Didn't really have you down as a Whitesnake devotee, Fielding. Does explain that back-of-the-sofa pose, though," Julian drawls. "Not quite a piano, but…"

Noel's torn between denying it's his CD, because it's definitely not, and leaping off the sofa to track Dave down and push him over for slipping it into the stack in the first place.

Julian chuckles, eyes skimming over Noel's flushed face, and he's got the smoke in Coverdale's voice beat. "'A loose perm,' eh? Tell me, was the inspiration Tawny or David?"

"Get stuffed," Noel squawks. "First off, that is _not_ mine-"

Julian's lips are over his a second later. His mouth's already conveniently open, Julian's tongue licking inside as he shifts to pull Noel closer. Noel sees his chance and slides the laptop over, scooting onto Julian's thigh as he presses their lips together. Julian helps: he nearly wedges the laptop down the side of the sofa, the chorus leaking out muffled. He cups the side of Noel's face and kisses him until Steve Vai starts pulling off a run of one-handed magic.

Julian's grin is smug and wolfish, satisfied and hungry at the same time when they break for breath. He nods at the laptop, rescues it and sets it at his feet.

"Not all bad, though. Quite a good solo."

Noel scoffs and rolls his eyes. His fringe has gone funny and his jacket's rucked back up, but maybe there is something poetic about a few of the lines toward the end. 

"If you're into that sort of shit." 

He catches his breath and tries to keep the smile out of his voice.

"I reckon he hasn't got anything on the fastest guitar player in Leeds, though."

*

Noel doesn’t have to say anything more. He remembers, and Julian remembers, and Julian knows just by the way he quirks his lips, and he knows just by the way Julian quirks his brow.

A proper kiss, then, as long as this stupid, ridiculous, romantic ballad from hell happened to come on.

Julian gives him one, but first, he curls his hand into Noel's still-damp hair, pushes it back from his ear. He leans down and mouths along with the last line of the song, and then he catches his lips in a grin. 

Noel can only smile and kiss him back.


End file.
